


Butterflies and Thunderstorms

by Hope Meijer (Hopemeijer)



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Returns (2001), The Mummy Series
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-08-03
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4073941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopemeijer/pseuds/Hope%20Meijer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn saw a butterfly land on a nearby flower and perch delicately, its wings moving silently to a rhythm only it could hear. Then the clouds moved and the butterfly and flower disappeared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Butterflies and Thunderstorms

The scream tore from her throat before she was even fully awake, her breath coming in gasps as she lay in the half-dark, facing the window but not really seeing anything. She wasn't even sure the scream had been hers until she heard heavy footsteps across the suite floor and a dishevelled Rick O'Connell burst in, gun in hand and a wild look on his face, eyes hard and scanning her room for intruders. Jonathan Carnahan was a few steps behind, blindly pushing past Rick – much to his annoyance – and skidding to a halt by the bed.

"Evie? Evie, old mum, what's wrong?"

Evelyn Carnahan slid herself to an upright position, her breathing nearly back to normal, and peered out at the two men from beneath the swathes of netting designed to keep the insects away. "I'm sorry, Jonathan, I had a nightmare. I didn't mean to wake you. I didn't mean to scream."

Jonathan huffed lightly, reaching out to pat her on the arm. "Well, no harm done. Must have been all that cheese you ate at dinner. Just...try not to do it again, hmm? Nearly gave me a heart attack that did, and I need the old ticker for a while yet."

Evelyn nodded, still not feeling quite herself, and managed a half-smile which she knew would easily fool her brother. "I'm fine, Jon, go back to bed. I promise it won't happen again."

Nodding and moving away, Jonathan yawned. "Well, back to bed, eh, O'Connell? My sister does like to keep everyone on their toes." Without waiting for a reply he headed back across the suite to the other bedroom he shared with the American.

Evelyn watched him go, then turned her head and caught Rick's concerned gaze. Having kept quiet whilst Jonathan did his brotherly duty, he now stepped forward, tucking his gun into a holster. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Rick. It was just a silly nightmare; I won't even remember it in the morning." She pointedly lay back and pulled the covers over her again, not wanting to face any more questions, despite appreciating the concern and worry of the man with whom she currently had an indefinable relationship. The idea of being _in_ a relationship was so new to both of them that they mostly flirted and danced around the issue, occasionally stealing a kiss when they thought no one was looking.

"Point taken," Rick grunted, and she heard his clothes rustle as he moved away. The door closed and she sighed, hoping she hadn't offended him.

When the door to the other room had shut and she was sure both the men were asleep again, she slid out of the bed and changed into a lightweight dress and cardigan. She didn't want to go back to sleep, nor stay in the room which seemed to her to be closing in, inch by inch, the longer she sat there. Picking up the key to the main door and pocketing it, she slipped out the door and fled down the stairs.

\---

The hotel courtyard was awash with tropical flowers and plants, and Evelyn had found it a comforting place to sit and think in the aftermath of the Imhotep saga. She curled up on a bench under the canopy of a large palm tree, the moonlight painting everything a silver grey before the clouds scudding across the sky stole the glint and plunged everything into near pitch darkness. In one such light moment, Evelyn saw a butterfly land on a nearby flower and perch delicately, its wings moving silently to a rhythm only it could hear. Then the clouds moved and the butterfly and flower disappeared.

She wished her insecurities could disappear so easily.

Ever since returning to Cairo, she'd found herself plagued with doubts as to her ability to continue, to study, to be in a relationship, to make decisions that wouldn't bring about the end of the world. She'd come to Cairo originally to escape her suffocating aunt on her mother's side; to make a name for herself in the world of archaeology. Instead, she'd found herself struggling to make ends meet, and it was only by pure luck that she stumbled upon Dr Terrence Bey, who remembered her parents well. It was a few short months of cataloguing and organising before Jonathan brought her the 'trinket' box and they set out to find O'Connell and then Hamunaptra.

Of course, everyone knew how _that_ turned out.

She sighed softly, her mind in turmoil, and it wasn't until a deep voice spoke that realised she wasn't alone.

"You know, this isn't a safe place to be out alone at night..."

"Rick!" she pressed a hand to her chest in defence, her wide eyes staring up at him as he gave her a lopsided grin and indicated to the space next to her.

"May I?"

"Of course..." she murmured, catching her breath and moving to give him room on the bench. It being a rather small bench, however, meant that she found herself pressed against a warm, muscular body and she was glad of the lack of light so he couldn't see the blush staining her cheeks. "I do know how to look after myself, thank you very much. They always say screaming is a good way to defend yourself; it deafens your attackers and people will come running."

Rick grinned, his teeth bright against the dark angles of his face. "Of course, screams are no good when you're unconscious."

Not quite knowing what to say, Evelyn let out a small "ooohhh" and huffed into silence. To let her know he wasn't mad at her, Rick laid a hand on her arm.

"Evelyn, are you sure you're all right?"

Glad at the change of subject, even to one she'd rather avoid, she nodded. "I'm fine. Like I said, it was a silly nightmare."

Rick studied her for a moment, his brow creasing thoughtfully. "But it's not the first one you've had, is it?"

She started, then clamped down on her surprise and turned her face in his vague direction. "I don't know what you mean," she said airily.

He chuckled, tapping a finger against her arm. "You may be able to fool your brother, Evelyn Carnahan, but you can't fool me. You are a _terrible_ liar."

She couldn't bring herself to be offended, and offered a small smile in return. "It runs in the family."

"I noticed." Rick sighed, then slid his arm across the back of the bench and tugged her lightly towards him. Not having anywhere else to go, and not wanting to escape in the slightest, Evelyn allowed herself to be pulled into his embrace, tucking her feet up to one side and resting her head on his shoulder. "Talk to me, Evie."

"I've been getting them nearly every night since we got back from...from–"

"From Hamunaptra," Rick supplied.

"Yes."

"What are they about? You've not screamed that loudly before – mostly you call out names, or whimper."

Evelyn found herself blushing again. "You heard me?"

"Your brother may sleep like the dead, but I'm used to listening out for anything unusual in the desert. That was one hell of a scream tonight, though."

She sighed lightly again, taking a moment to breathe in his musky scent. It was a mix of desert, gunpowder and oil and something that was uniquely _him_. She found it comforting and relaxing, a feeling the strong circle of his arms gave her too. "It's usually things like – what would have happened if we hadn't found the right inscription to control the warriors, or if Jonathan got in the way of Imhotep and he wasn't distracted. But tonight..." she paused, not wanting to relive the horrors of her nightmare but knowing he needed to hear it, "tonight I dreamt I was possessed by Anck-su-namun, and the first thing she did was to...to-" She bit her lip, closing her eyes against the press of tears. Rick didn't move, his stoic strength calming her slightly. "She killed you, and I couldn't do anything, only watch." She subsided into silence, and he mentally kicked himself. He knew what she was going through – the guilt of the survivor was a common ailment; one he had suffered through many times. However the way he dealt with it was most likely worlds away from the young librarian in his arms, and he didn't quite know how to respond.

"You're thinking I have a vivid imagination." Her voice was quiet, and he realised he'd been silent for too long. Not yet comfortable with the whole talking-about-feelings, he opted for the light-hearted reply, hoping it would cheer her up.

"This coming from someone who's just seen off a resurrected priest and his long-lost lover." She giggled softly and he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "It gets better."

"Really?" She'd turned her face fully towards him and the pure hope on her face made him want to take her into his arms and protect her from everything that could possibly hurt her. She was still such an innocent, and more than once he'd found himself wondering how she'd managed to get herself away from the protective, cotton-wool society she should be living in back in England and immerse herself in a world of mercenary treasure-hunters, blood-thirsty thieves and jaded Legionnaires.

"I promise. It might take a while, but it will."

She seemed to take that to heart, subsiding into a contemplative silence. For his part, Rick enjoyed just sitting there holding her without the constant buzz of noise from the market place or Jonathan, or even Evelyn herself, wildly speculating on some theory or other. The soft rumble of thunder overhead just added to the feeling of content; the fresh breeze stirring up the foliage around them gave him a sense of being part of something bigger, something _more_. Something that allowed him to believe he could be whatever he wanted to be, not just Richard O'Connell, ex-Legionnaire saved moments before death by a librarian's deal with the prison warden.

"What are you going to do?"

His question surprised both of them; Rick because he hadn't actually intended on voicing his thoughts and Evelyn because she'd not expected him to break the comfortable silence.

"When?"

"Tomorrow. Next week. Next year. Just...after this. You can't stay here forever."

She looked slightly put out and shifted in his arms. "Why not?"

He gave a low chuckle at her almost childish belief that nothing would change, but smoothed his hand down her arm to reassure her. "I mean, you and your brother aren't going to live in this hotel, surely? You're going to find a house, and become curator of the museum, or apply to those scholar-people again."

"Bembridge Scholars," she corrected automatically, almost without realising it, then sighed and closed her eyes. She'd thought life would be so simple when she'd set out on her journey. Find Hamunaptra, find the Pharaoh's treasure and go down in history. Or return empty-handed and disillusioned with her day-job to settle back into. But the curator had died trying to prevent the cursed townspeople from tearing Rick, Jonathan and Ardeth Bay into pieces, and the library was still in a horrific state from when she'd accidentally knocked the shelves down. No one knew who was going to take over; the knowledge she had was most likely going to be rejected by the archaeological community as being too far-fetched (after all, who would believe she'd been kidnapped by an immortal high priest bent on resurrecting his dead girlfriend and taking over the world?) and they had two sacks of precious metals and jewels that they'd discovered on the backs of the camels from a tomb that no longer really existed – or at least was not accessible in the slightest. "I don't know."

"Really?" He sounded so surprised and she smiled lightly at his apparent faith in her having a plan for everything.

"Really. I thought I did. At least I did before all... _this_...happened. I was content in my job, doing something that interested me even though I was finding it hard to advance in my field."

"But now...?" he prompted, wanting to hear her admit to what he found he couldn't.

"I'm lost," she stated simply. She was beginning to lower those walls around her emotions and let him in, allowing him to see more of the true Evelyn Carnahan instead of the prim and proper Englishwoman he'd first met. "I don't know what to do. I feel like I've been caught up in something and then thrown out into the world with no guidance. My beliefs have been turned upside down; I've lost people I know to something no one would ever believe could exist..." She sighed, unsure how to continue. Whenever she thought of the future her emotions whipped into a maelstrom of confusion and uncertainty like a butterfly caught in a thunderstorm, thrown this way and that by strong winds.

Unsure quite how to respond, Rick squeezed her lightly to let her know he understood – which he did, having thought he was destined for the gallows and nothing more. Now he was free, and fairly rich by the looks of the treasure they'd unknowingly brought back with them, and he had endless possibilities stretched out in front of him without a single clue where to start. "Will you go back to England?"

Evelyn considered his question for a moment before lifting her small shoulders in a minute shrug. "I don't know. We have enough to afford our own home, away from my aunt, but other than that..." Rick filed that small piece of information about her relative away, intending to ask her about that later on when they weren't so concerned about the immediate future. "What about you?"

"Hmm?" He took in a breath, filling himself with the smell of the fresh, damp air around them which heralded the oncoming storm. Already the breeze had turned a little chilly, and he knew it wouldn't be long before they were forced inside to shelter from the changing weather. "I guess I'd always thought I'd end up going to England at some point in my life. I'd like to see it."

Evelyn smiled. "You'd like it." But she chose not to launch into one of her impassioned monologues and he appreciated the quieter, freer side of the naive and bookishly intelligent young woman he'd fallen for.

They sat there in silence for a while longer until the first fat drops of rainwater hit the leaves and ground around them, and then Rick took her hand and dashed over to the shelter of the hotel with her just as the heavens opened behind them, feeling more free than he had ever before.

\---

Jonathan's steady snores emanated from his room as they entered the suite, dripping slightly from the rain that had caught them before they'd managed to dive under cover. Rick's amused snort earned an amused look from Evelyn as she made her way across to her room, fully intending on saying goodnight and trying to find sleep. But a strong hand on her arm stopped her and she turned to find Rick stepping towards her and then past her, his other hand already removing his ever-present gun from its holster.

"Let me check first."

Privately, Evelyn thought she was _far_ too old to have someone check under the bed for monsters, especially since they'd already established she'd had a nightmare and not been under attack; however she was beginning to appreciate the fact that there was currently a rather tall, muscular man with a gun who'd take no nonsense from anyone who _might_ want to attack her, in her room. And if this was the way he wanted to show his protective side, then Evelyn wouldn't be the one to stop him.

"All clear." He turned back to her to find her hovering in the doorway, rainwater dripping lightly onto the floor from the ends of her loose hair. He had a sudden urge to take her in his arms, but settled for clearing his throat awkwardly and tucking his gun away. "Will you be all right?"

She nodded mutely, and they began that dance again; the one of people unsure of where they stand with one another.

"Right, I'll be off to bed then." He moved as if to touch her, then paused, then nodded and moved past her to the sitting room beyond.

"Rick?"

Rick stopped and turned to face her, noting how she shifted from foot to foot and fidgeted with her hair. She was obviously about to say something but she wasn't sure how to, and he suspected she was fighting with the propriety and etiquette that had been instilled in her from a young age.

But she won, and her voice was soft as she spoke again. "Will you stay?"

To put her – and, if he were honest, himself too – at ease, he grinned widely. "I thought you'd never ask."

As she removed her cardigan and slid under the sheets still wearing her dress, he carefully set his holster within easy reach, kicked his boots off and lay down on top. It wasn't that he didn't trust himself, but there was another person in their party who had no qualms about barging into rooms and Rick didn't particularly want to have to worry about Jonathan trying to attack him under the impression of the American stealing his baby sister's virtue.

Although he did intend on slipping back to his room before sunrise so he could avoid that particular scene.

"What are you thinking about?" Evelyn's voice broke into his thoughts and he smiled down at her as she cuddled closer, the distant rumbling becoming slightly louder as the storm moved past.

"If you do go back to England, I'd like to go with you. If that's okay with you, of course."

Her face lit up and he chuckled, her delight infectious. "I would very much like that." She touched his cheek with a fingertip and traced a very faint scar there; one that he'd always been a little self-conscious about, but with her it just felt part of him. He caught her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing feather-light kisses over her fingers. She watched him silently with wide eyes and he decided it was time to broach the subject of their relationship.

"I don't know what I have with you, Evie, but I like it, and I want to spend more time with you. See where it goes." He wasn't making any promises; hell, he was terrified of commitment, but he was telling her in his own way he wanted to stick around for a while.

She nodded, the feeling of uncertainty that had been plaguing her since their return starting to ease. "Whether we go to England or stay here, we'll do it together."

"And your brother?"

"Oh, you know him; he'll find his own way." But the airy way she said it didn't cover the meaning beneath and he understood completely that Jonathan was a big part of her life that wouldn't change. If he stayed with Evelyn, he'd be staying with Jonathan – they were a package deal, and he found that he didn't mind that idea as much as he thought he would.

"Yeah, I know him." He tugged her closer to his body and she curled into him, slipping a hand over his side and clutching his shirt as if to ensure he wouldn't disappear in the night. He touched his lips to her forehead, then lightly against her own lips as she tilted her head to look at him, and as her eyes closed he deepened the kiss, pouring into it the emotions that he could never quite manage to vocalise. He enjoyed her responsiveness for a while, then pulled away. They needed to get _some_ sleep that night otherwise neither would be able to keep up with Jonathan the next day and that was never a good thing.

"Sweet dreams, Evelyn."

She kissed his cheek and tucked her head under his chin, her hair tickling his skin lightly as her muffled, "Goodnight, Rick," reached his ears.

\---

The sun was strong and bright as it poured in through the window and lit upon the sleeping couple. Rick's good intentions to leave Evelyn and sneak back to his own room in time for Jonathan to wake had been abandoned as the tiredness had caught up with them both and they'd slept deeply until their bodies felt it time to wake.

Unfortunately, they were prematurely awoken by Jonathan's entrance. Had they both been under the sheets it would likely have precipitated an attack in defence of his sister, but as it was they were both startled to consciousness by a loud, scandalised shout, which was only cut short when Jonathan found himself staring down the barrel of a very steady gun.

There were probably better ways to announce a relationship.


	2. Moth to a Flame

If there was one thing he _really_ didn't like about England, Rick O'Connell mused, it was the weather. Having spent most of his life in and around Egypt, he was used to the scorching sun, the oppressive heat and the parched land. At least there it was dependable, with the occasional storm thrown in for good measure. In London, however, the weather was changeable at the drop of a hat and could be anything from a mild fog to a heavy downpour.

It was currently late October, and although the rains were yet to appear the wind was whipping up a storm outside. From where Rick was sat on the large window ledge in the drawing room, it was like Imhotep had found a way to follow them out of Egypt and was rallying the air to do his bidding much like he had with the sand. Rick had found the drawing room to be a quiet sanctuary he could retreat to when he wanted to be alone; whether to absorb another facet of the society he'd just been introduced to, or just to think over his day. Evelyn had her library (which she rarely spent time away from) and Jonathan had immediately made a beeline for the cellar the day they moved into the mansion and hadn't been seen much since.

It had been a scant few months since they'd returned from Cairo, managing to sneak their treasure through and buying a large mansion on the outskirts of London. Rick would have been happier with something smaller, and to be honest from the look on Evelyn's face when she'd first seen the place she would have been too, but the thought that Jonathan could have his own wing, not too close to them but yet still be under their watchful eyes was the main reason they'd taken it. The rest of the treasure was secure in their safe and would be 'discovered' on various digs, to allow them to legitimately provide the British Museum with some of the more historically important pieces. One such piece had already found its way to the museum's collection, and in thanks there was a ball that night to bring all the patrons, benefactors and scholars together.

Rick tugged uncomfortably at the collar on his suit. They were supposed to be leaving in half an hour and he could hear Jonathan rattling around somewhere but Evelyn had gone suspiciously quiet. He supposed she'd stepped into the bath after a particularly busy day of rearranging the library – something she only did when highly stressed. He'd give her another ten minutes and then try to wrestle her into a dress so they could go off to face high society.

Having been an orphaned child in Cairo, Rick was more comfortable amongst the lower echelons, and his joining the Legion had only upped his social standing to just-above-the-lower-echelons. Since he'd come to England they'd been thrust into the limelight and had the cream of society calling at their door, if only to try to rub shoulders with those that had money, and it was something he hated with a passion. He had nothing in common with these people (except, maybe, Jonathan) and he knew their friendship would last as long as their money did. At least in Cairo if someone was holding a knife to your throat you knew where you stood with them. The museum's directors had been making noises about Evelyn's various applications but Rick could see they were stringing it out until she 'found' something else of value and he hated the way her face lit up every time they send through a 'letter of consideration'.

He missed the simple life he'd come from. Eat, sleep, survive. Even meeting Evelyn and Jonathan hadn't changed much; so he'd gained a love interest and her brother, but they were still in familiar surroundings and he knew who to deal with and how to deal with them. Here he felt way out of his depth and stupid when surrounded by Evelyn's peers. When they started off on one over some piece of pottery or another, they started bandying about words of five or more syllables that left him trying to figure out the first whilst they'd moved onto the next sentence, and it made him angry. Angry with himself, that he couldn't understand what they were saying, and angry with them for rubbing it in his face.

He checked his watch and sighed, one last glance out the window at the early evening sky dark with clouds revealing the wind was stronger than before, making him wonder if there wasn't a storm coming. He hoped it would wait until they'd returned to the house after the ball, to ensure they got home safely, but had suspicions they only had to step outside the front door to invite the rain that was threatening. As he stood and scrutinised his faint reflection in the glass, he had to admit that he scrubbed up well, but wished that he were in something a little more comfortable than the starched suit he'd been forced to buy by Jonathan. His wardrobe included some very comfortable suits but apparently they weren't for evenings, which had led him to question exactly why suits had a time-of-day attached to them. Surely they were just suits?

Another sigh escaped him as he made his way upstairs to find the bathroom conspicuously empty of the female form, and a check of the bedroom revealed a similar emptiness. The dusty clothes of the day were in a small pile by the entrance to Evelyn's dressing room, and it never failed to amuse him that whilst she was so neat and scrupulous in her cataloguing and work her absentmindedness lent itself to messiness in her everyday life.

He headed back downstairs again, knowing where to find her. She'd obviously spent some time changing and beautifying herself (he always argued that she didn't need 'beautifying' and it would gain him an affectionate but tolerant look before she ushered him away) before she'd gone back to the relative calm of her sanctuary.

As he stepped into the confines of the library, he saw a moth fluttering around one of the electric light bulbs, its wings beating ineffectually at the glass surrounding the lit filament. He was bemused to find himself feeling somewhat sympathetic with the moth; at times he felt Evelyn was his bright, alluring light bulb and he was merely fluttering in her periphery, although he knew this to be untrue. Evelyn was the light in his life, true, but she wasn't unreachable. He'd proved that when he'd proposed to her a few weeks after the Hamunaptra affair, in a move more suited to a romantic fop than an ex-Legionnaire, which had surprisingly sent Jonathan off into a long rambling speech about how his baby sister had finally grown up and that he would hurt Rick if he ever hurt her and would they please keep the kissy-kissy to a minimum around him?

They'd come to England as newlyweds, much to the horror of the ever-disliked aunt who'd spouted off about how Evelyn had married below her station and how she'd ruined the name of the family and she should have at least waited to get to England so she could have had a wedding befitting her and continued on in this vein until Jonathan had grabbed the receiver from Evelyn's hand and slammed it back on the telephone. Evelyn was still reeling from the bitter tone her aunt had used when Rick had taken her upstairs and proved to her exactly why she didn't need distant relatives when she had him.

He still enjoyed referring to Evelyn as his wife, and from the small smile that graced her lips every time she said the word husband, she still thoroughly enjoyed it too.

He moved further into the library, the stillness only broken by the soft sounds of pages turning and the wind rattling the windowpanes infrequently. He followed the rustling to find his wife perched on the edge of a window ledge, her lithe body clad in a soft silk dress that covered most of her yet left little to the imagination.

He sucked in a breath when he saw her hair curled up and pinned to reveal the nape of her neck. He'd always thought that he'd be more of a legs or 'décolletage' man, but the sight of her bare neck was enough to send his insides into paroxysms of joy and his fingers itched to trace the line of soft, pale skin. She hadn't appeared to have heard him, and he stepped up behind her to lean against the wall, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders and giving in to the temptation to brush his lips over her skin. She responded by slamming the book closed in fright, but didn't move too far from his touch. He grinned against her skin; she was learning.

"Darling, I didn't hear you come in."

"I know," he breathed in her ear, and she leaned back against his muscular body as his hands slid down her arms and crossed over her to hold her. "And you know we have five minutes before we need to leave."

She sighed softly, fingers tapping lightly against the book cover as it rested on the window ledge. "I'm sorry, I was ready but there was something I wanted to check..."

He grinned and tugged lightly on a lock of hair that had fallen free of the pins, and she tilted her head back to look up at him as he studied her. "Do we have to go?"

"Of course we do. Jonathan would never let us hear the end of it and the patrons of the museum are expecting us to be present," she replied, but he could hear the note of uncertainty in her voice. She was fidgeting with the fabric of the skirt and he knew how she hated these social events as much as he did. She was a woman in a male-dominated profession, which had encouraged her habit of wearing shapeless, covering clothes and delving into her books in an effort to make them take her more seriously. Rick had helped her find her feminine side, which had had the effect of dazzling some of the men more than her knowledge and work, and he was glad that she was still fairly oblivious and naïve to such advances. The ring on her finger helped, too.

They would both much prefer to be out in Egypt, digging and discovering (hopefully without reading another large book aloud), and it was this that Evelyn was thinking of when she next spoke. "I miss Egypt."

"Me too." Rick's arms tightened around her to comfort her, and she rested her forehead against his jaw. "We're going to spend Christmas out in Egypt."

"Really?" her face lit up and he knew that she missed it as much as he did, although he knew their reasons were different.

"We did kinda miss out on the whole honeymoon thing..." That was true; they'd returned to England straight after the wedding and been so involved in moving house and then presenting the museum with knowledge and treasure that they'd forgotten to take time for themselves. He'd already planned Christmas – with Jonathan's help – and they'd take a couple of weeks away from even him so they could have a proper honeymoon. He'd been planning to surprise her with it when they reached Cairo but he suspected she already knew something was afoot, even if she didn't know the details. Jonathan was never very good with secrets.

"I know." She sighed lightly, watching the first drops of rain catch on the windowpane. "Rick, I really don't want to go tonight. All those people...they're going to want to talk to me..."

There was the problem. She'd been so introverted for so long that even though she could hold her own in a lengthy academic debate, she wilted at the thought of being thrust into the limelight in a social situation, even if said situation was mainly academic. "Come on, Evie. You're brave, you just have to get through tonight and then we can think about Egypt."

She moved out of his embrace and over to a bookcase where she slid the tome she'd been reading neatly back into its place. "I'm not brave, Rick, that's you."

He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with a small amount of impatience. "Evie, you fought a dead guy bent on destroying the world. And won." True, she'd been the one to raise him from the dead in the first place, but no one really expected the Egyptologist's shouted warning to come true. Besides, when faced with the fact that said dead guy was walking about and gaining power, all Rick had wanted to do was run the opposite direction and she'd effectively stamped her dainty little foot and refused to budge. He suspected that said more about her stubborn morality than it did his self-preservation instinct, especially when he'd seen the fire-rain and found Henderson being finished off by the ugly son of a bitch and ended up staying to help her.

Apparently wanting to ignore this little argument they tended to have, one that came up often but with different sides being taken each time, she picked up a wrap that had been flung onto the reading desk and slipped it round her shoulders. "Fine. But this is the last one we're going to. Then we can start looking at our next dig."

That was fine by him. They'd agreed the best way to bring the treasures to the museum was by finding them in various digs over the next few years, which meant they had to go on these digs. Since the museum liked to see results, it had gone in their favour and they'd be able to get permission from the Department of Antiquities out in Egypt when they wanted (some smaller items would also find their way there just to keep the department on their side) they'd found a way to balance their life. They'd met in the midst of an adventure, and they both found that returning to England had somewhat dampened their spirits. The first few weeks had been a mild worry to both of them that they'd rushed into the marriage but he knew that the sooner they had a plan for their future, the better. And the digs were something that appealed to both his interest in treasure and her unwavering need to delve deeper into discoveries of historical importance.

Although he'd have to try and get her to attend a few more balls. Granted, they both hated the social scene but the sight of Evelyn in a gown was rare and he intended to enjoy it when he could. He reached out to her, giving her a quick hug as the sound of Jonathan's slightly off key singing gradually increased. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled down at her. "Have I told you how beautiful you look lately?"

She blushed and smacked his lapel with the back of her hand. "You smooth talker you. Now, let's go so you can buy me a drink and pretend we know how to dance."

Grinning, he led her out of the library. As he passed through the doors he flipped the switch to turn off the lights, and the filaments in the bulbs dimmed before being extinguished. The door closed firmly behind him and the moth was left in near darkness.


	3. Moth to a Flame (Part II)

The great hall was bustling with people, the band in the corner playing soft music which barely competed with the steady flow and ebb of conversation. A few couples had commandeered the centre of the room as a dance floor and they span and dipped to the waltzes and foxtrots as the songs flowed one to the next whilst everyone else stood round the edges, drinking cocktails and discussing the weather, the newest additions to the museum, academia and the latest fashions.

Jonathan, Rick and Evelyn had barely managed to avoid the rain on their way; it was only thanks to the combined effort of the two men and an overlarge umbrella that the only evidence of the dismal weather was a few drying spots on the hem of Evelyn's silk dress.

Rick noticed that his wife was staying close to him as they stood near the door. Jonathan had disappeared off to the bar to fetch a round of drinks – although Rick suspected he would down two in quick succession before eventually bringing some over to them – and it wouldn't be long before people started noticing them, bringing the inevitable chatter and pandering to their currently quiet niche. Evelyn was all for hiding behind one of the potted plants but knew that once they'd been noticed and talked at for half an hour the novelty would wear off and they would be left in peace. Rick had apparently noticed her discomfort as the arm slung loosely around her waist tightened minutely and he bent down to murmur in her ear.

"If you grin and bear it for an hour or so we'll go and find somewhere a little quieter to have our own celebration..."

She tried to look shocked at the leer on his face but knew it fell flat when she'd been thinking the exact same thing only moments earlier. It showed how much her husband had influenced her when rather than studying the relics of past times all she could think about was getting him in a dark corner all to herself. Jonathan called it the curse of the newly-weds; she called it exciting. Rick called it something else entirely that couldn't be repeated in polite company.

They'd been hovering in the corner for a good fifteen minutes before the curator approached them and started an in-depth conversation with Evelyn that Rick tuned out as he scanned the room. Jonathan was somewhere across the other side with a platinum blonde hanging onto his every word, but other than that Rick realised that he didn't know a single person in sight. This wasn't an unusual occurrence; most of his life had been spent moving from one foreign place to another with a group of men that hardly knew each other, but this was different. He'd been armed to the teeth then, and most people were ignoring him, fighting him or running from him. Here he felt at a disadvantage, in his uncomfortable suit and having to mind his manners.

"Would you mind awfully if I stole your wife for a while?" he heard the curator say, and he blinked momentarily before lifting a shoulder in a decidedly Gallic shrug.

"As long as you bring her back in one piece," he replied, and the amusement he gained from the bemused look on the curator's face was dimmed somewhat by the pointed glare he received from Evelyn. He raised an eyebrow at her and she shook her head.

"I wont be long darling. Apparently there are some journalists that would like to ask a few questions." She was pulled over to the waiting circle of journalists, all talking over one another in a desperate attempt to be heard and gain an answer to the burning question of the moment that would secure them immortality in print. She, in her flame-red dress, stood calm and composed in the centre of the men in their black-and-white suits as they fluttered round her, vying for attention. He was proud of how she managed to deal with them – he hated them with a passion. There'd been no end of them out in Cairo, always hovering around the latest scandal or treasure-seeking expedition, waiting for the story that would give them their break. He studied them with his lips twisting into a moue of distaste, mentally giving them five minutes before he'd go and retrieve her.

"I'd suggest keeping the scowling to a minimum," Jonathan's voice suddenly spoke in his ear, and Rick turned his head to raise an eyebrow at his brother-in-law, who was offering him a glass of - something. "Well, you know what they're like. They take an instant dislike to you and dig up the dirt and you find it splashed across the front pages next to the main story. You don't want anything like that to reflect on my darling baby sister, would you?"

Rick took the drink, suspecting there was a hint of guilty experience behind the levity, but decided to leave that for another time. Jonathan's third (or was it fourth?) cocktail of the evening was already half empty, and he cast a mildly disapproving eye over the young man. "Careful with those drinks Jonathan. You don't want to get too drunk and cause a ruckus that would be splashed across the front page, do you? It would reflect badly on your darling baby sister."

Jonathan regarded him sardonically, a hint of a self-mocking smile. "Touché, old chap."

Rick shook his head lightly, grinning, the almost-tension in the air between them already dissipating. There was still so much left for them to learn about one another, and any arguments that needed to be had were best left behind closed doors (and possibly with Evelyn as mediator). "You go enjoy yourself, Jonathan. I'll keep an eye on her."

"Good show, O'Connell. If they start getting rowdy, go in guns blazing." With that, Jonathan headed off in search of the buxom blonde last seen hanging off his arm. Rick suspected she'd already moved on to the next well-off chap dripping with booze and expensive aftershave, but there were plenty of other buxom women in the room for him to work his way through. He'd noticed that for all her innocence and naivety, Evelyn was well-versed in the ways of gold-diggers and showed a surprising amount of tolerance for Jonathan and his ladies. It was another facet to the rather complex woman under the bookish façade of Evelyn Carnahan (O'Connell, he corrected himself, not without a small thrill of pride) and he loved that he was one of the very few that got to see and understand the many sides of her.

He stood in quiet appreciation of her for a while, happy to stand on his own out of the way, until a smooth voice came from behind him and he mentally chided himself for being so caught up watching Evelyn that he didn't hear anyone approaching. "I understand you're one of the guests of honour here tonight." He turned to face a young brunette, about Evelyn's age, in a light chiffon dress (a style that he'd heard Evy call 'flapper' when they'd wandered past a shop window and she'd gazed in wistfully at one similar). Her perfect coiffure and flawless makeup blended seamlessly with the sparkling jewels at her throat and ears, and screamed 'money' to Rick, but whether it was her own or someone else's was another matter.

"Something like that," he gave her a self-deprecating smile, quickly scanning the room to see if Jonathan, Evelyn or any friendly face was available to rescue him. Unfortunately Jonathan was nowhere to be found, Evelyn was still patiently answering the same questions in the crowd of journalists, and there were no friendly faces. "What brings you here? Surely you have something better to do than hang around boring old guys talking about long-dead civilisations?"

She tilted her head back and laughed; a light, breezy sound. "I have to say, I do find it rather fascinating once in a while. The jewels and treasures that are being found...it's mind-boggling!"

Rick allowed himself a wry smile; she'd been talking to him for less than two minutes and already got to the crux of the matter – she was interested in money, whichever form it came in. Something that he had a feeling most of the women in the room had in common.

When he didn't reply, she held out a dainty hand. "Lydia Holt. And you are?"

She'd known he was a 'guest of honour' but not his name, he mused. "Married," he replied with a cheerful grin, ignoring her hand.

She hesitated, but leant in, smiling. "And that matters...how?"

Apparently in this world of superficiality, money and titles, the sanctity of marriage didn't exist. He knew what she was hinting at and he felt a mixture of pity and scorn for her. She needed to be loved by someone as much as he loved Evelyn, but she was obviously insecure enough that she tried to get involved with men that were unattainable; shallow relationships that wouldn't last and certainly wouldn't fulfil. He glanced over to where Evelyn was still surrounded by a crowd of people, still incessantly asking questions, and he realised that his mental five minutes was probably well over. "If you don't mind, I'm going to find my wife," he directed the comment in Lydia's general direction, but by then his attention was fully focused on the figure in red in amongst the fluttering reporters. If Lydia made any response he didn't hear, and he set his drink down on a nearby table as he strode past.

"Excuse me, may I steal my wife back?" he interrupted, and Evelyn shot him a look that was part desperation, part gratefulness. She'd probably been answering the same questions phrased differently over and over, and the initial enthusiasm was starting to wear thin. He grabbed her hand and guided her to the door, giving the curator a jaunty wave, and they rounded the corner into the corridor. He paused, but Evelyn seemed to read his mind and took the lead, tugging him down the darker end where there were fewer people. She knew where she was going and he let her guide him. This was what he loved about her; for all her faults she trusted him implicitly. She might not understand why he did something, but she was willing to go along with him. He'd nurtured her sense of adventure until she was almost as eager as him to explore new places.

"Where are we going?" he questioned, and she let out a short laugh, turning until she walked backwards, her hand still firmly ensconced in his own.

"You tell me – you're the one that dragged me out of there."

Amused, he tugged her until she collided with his chest, and he pressed a kiss to her nose. "I wanted my wife. Plus, you did look like you needed rescuing."

She tilted her head in assent, running her free hand up his chest, a thoughtful look crossing her face. When he caught sight of her expression, he groaned. "Oh, I know what that look means..."

Evelyn giggled, then suddenly ducked away from him and headed further down the corridor, leading him on a merry dance through darkened rooms and exhibits. Finally, they ducked through an almost hidden doorway, Evelyn's giggles muffled by her hand although they'd left all the other patrons five minutes ago and hadn't seen a security guard since the third floor. It was certainly an advantage having a wife that knew all of the hidden rooms and offices in the museum, despite not having worked there herself.

This particular musty room seemed to be in a section being prepared for a new exhibition – half the cases were full of relics, artifacts and a couple of mummified corpses – and as Evelyn led him to a corner in near-pitch darkness, he spun her round and gripped her waist. She giggled again, moving backwards until her back hit the wall, looking coyly up at her husband through her thick eyelashes in a way that she knew drove him crazy, despite the unlikelihood of him actually being able to see it in the dark.

"You are a little minx, you know that?" he chided, his large hands spanning her waist and pulling her body flush against his.

"So I've been told..." she murmured, her own hands trapped between them, picking lightly at the buttons on his shirt as her mouth found the skin at the edge of his collar and started to suck lightly, gaining an appreciative groan. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then trailed his lips down over her cheekbone to the edge of her mouth and started nibbling his way in until she made a small noise of protest. The kiss started off teasing but when she freed her arms and wrapped them round his broad shoulders, her fingers delving into his thick hair and encouraging him closer, it deepened until it was almost desperate and ravishing. Only the need for air parted them, and even then their faces stayed mere inches apart, warm breath ghosting over skin and leaving tingles in its path. "Something tells me you've been waiting all night to do that," Evelyn breathed, and he let out a soft chuckle.

"Is it a crime to want my wife when she's wearing a dress like this?" As he spoke he fingered the soft silk that clung to her body like a second skin, and nuzzled her cheek. It was Evelyn's turn to let out a small laugh.

"I wanted to wear the warmer, thicker dress, but it was you whom convinced me to wear this one..."

"And now you know why," he rumbled, hands running up and down her back. She rolled her eyes affectionately as he kissed her again, one hand lightly parting the silk where the modest split stopped at her knees and sliding under the material to stroke the soft skin of her leg. When she didn't protest, he moved his hand daringly higher, over the cold smooth metal and –

He paused, then pulled back, raising an eyebrow at his wife. "What's that, Evelyn?"

A faint shaft of moonlight from the overhead window caught her innocent expression. "A holster."

"With a gun?"

"Well, yes. You bought it for me, you should know." It was true enough. He'd bought it for her not long after reaching England and they'd decided to take more trips out to Egypt. He'd taught her how to use it and how to clean and care for it. He wanted her to be able to protect herself if he or Jonathan weren't there to help her.

"But why have you got it here?" Had he been watching carefully, he would have seen the mischievous look that flitted across Evelyn's face, but he was a little preoccupied.

"We're in a museum full of Egyptian corpses, there are at least twenty people here who can read Ancient Egyptian and I'm sure somewhere someone has a copy of a domestic Book of the Dead. One can never be too careful."

Rick stared at Evelyn in mild shock. She'd been around him too long; his sarcasm was rubbing off on her. He tried to form a response but a base part of him found the idea that his deliciously rumpled wife was armed underneath that dress rather _hot_ and all other thought processes seemed to halt there as he stood staring at her with a slightly slack-jawed expression.

After two minutes of his silence, Evelyn began to wonder if she'd finally broken her husband.


	4. Dragonfly Over Water

The late summer sun reflected off the surface of the pond, into Jonathan's glass of whiskey and danced off the ice cubes. Jonathan blinked as one of the cubes turned and the light flashed into his eyes, twisting the glass and staring into the richly coloured liquid pensively. He enjoyed a glass of something (whichever was his drink of choice at the time) in the late afternoons, stretched out in a deck chair and relaxing from a hard day of doing - well, very little - before the evening soirees that he was inevitably invited to, being the brother of the infamous Evelyn O'Connell and one of the original group that discovered the treasures of Hamunaptra. Evie, newly married, was still the darling of the academic circles, but more importantly to Jonathan was also becoming increasingly popular amongst the social elite due to their riches. Everyone wanted to be friends with money.

Along with the riches had come the manor house, chosen mainly by Evie when she had seen the extensive library, and backed up by Jonathan when he'd discovered the size and contents of the cellar. Apparently the previous owner had little to no family when they had passed away and the contents had been an option when purchasing the house. The grounds were mainly manicured and well-kept, but there was a corner Evie had left to nature, including a pond which was a haven for wildlife and flowers. This was fast becoming Jonathan's favourite spot for an afternoon drink and nap, and he knew he would miss it when the winter came.

As he watched, a dragonfly darted over the surface of the water, the wings a blur as it skimmed to the centre and settled delicately on the water. A tiny ripple radiated from where its legs touched the surface, breaking through the reflection of two figures almost entwined together in a seat not far from Jonathan himself; close enough to be sociable but far enough away that they could talk without disturbing his reverie.

They were the perfect couple, he mused, and meeting Rick had been good for his sister. Growing up, Jonathan had been the outgoing, social sibling; perhaps encouraged by his parents as the eldest and the only son. Evie had hidden behind books and knowledge, a painfully shy child who knew everything about the burial rituals of the ancient Egyptians yet nothing about playing with girls her own age. Jonathan knew she had been bullied but whilst a few thoughtless remarks from her compatriots had hit the mark occasionally and she had gone running to her mother in tears, her nature dictated that most of the said bullying had gone straight over her head and she never really knew just how much of an outcast she had been at school. Once their parents realised Jonathan was far more interested in chasing girls and doing dodgy deals for money they focused their academic aspirations on their daughter who thrived under their tutelage. The loss of their parents had hit both him and Evie hard, their overbearing aunt and her attempted meddling in their futures sending them fleeing to Egypt. There they had struggled until Evie found work with Dr Terrence Bey.

Then they'd met Richard O'Connell, who had taken an interest in Jonathan's baby sister (to be honest, rather surprisingly), but he agreed with the match wholeheartedly. On the surface they were completely different; their backgrounds, their nature...even in looks she was the dark-haired, petite nymph who hid an inner strength, whilst he was the tall golden Adonis whose muscles belied a softer side. One he was currently displaying as he cradled Evie gently to him, one hand absently resting on the slightest curve of her belly where Jonathan knew his niece or nephew was currently growing. Rick's adoration of Evie had increased her confidence in herself and her work, and she now threw herself into everything with a single-minded tenacity that convinced Jonathan she could even walk on water if she put her mind to it. (Although that didn't seem to be too much of an impossibility once one had faced the ten plagues of Egypt and lived to tell the tale.) And Evie in return had tempered Rick's rough character and worn away some of his sharp edges and impatience; something Jonathan noticed had extended to include his presence in their life, for which he was grateful.

In less than a year, he knew their life would change yet again to welcome the new addition to their family, but he found himself looking forward to it more than he'd previously thought. They'd all grown in character and together as a unit, and they were going to grow even more. Evie, especially, had found herself not just as an academic but as a woman and lover, and she had motherhood to grow into as well. Jonathan wasn't jealous of the relationship between Rick and his sister, although there were times he wished he could find the right woman with whom to settle down. He was having far too much fun searching, however, so it would be a good few years yet.

Jonathan cast his gaze back across the water to the couple, Evie having produced a book from somewhere and reading it quietly to Rick who had tilted his head back with half-closed eyes, one arm supporting his wife's slight body curled on his lap and the other down by his side with a glass loosely clasped between his fingers. Jonathan allowed himself a brief moment of envy at the American's muscles - he had tried to improve his fitness with help from Rick but it had been too much like hard work; something he avoided like the plague.

The dragonfly had gone, the pond's surface uninterrupted and mirror-like in the still of the evening. Rick's slight movement in the reflection caught Jonathan's eye and he saw the other man meeting his gaze steadfastly, his drink lifted in a toast and his lips in a wry smile as Evie continued reading, oblivious to the silent camaraderie between the two men in her life.

Jonathan lifted his drink, his silent toast responding to Rick's, and he smiled. Life, he thought, was good.


End file.
